


In the Darkened Light | A Shadowhunter Story

by sarcazazzled



Series: In the Darkened Light | A Shadowhunter Story [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/F, F/M, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Female Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-07 08:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12228834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcazazzled/pseuds/sarcazazzled
Summary: LORD OF SHADOWS SPOILERAfter Livvy's death, the Blackthorns are broken, their family a whirlwind of distress and despair. Julian blames himself, thinking he should have protected them all better. Emma is furious, a flame sparked and ignited in her. She wants to avenge Livvy, like she did with her parents. Helen and Aline have only just returned from Wrangel Island, excited to see their family, when one of their brethren is murdered. Ty's heart is shattered. He can't cope, won't come to terms with Livvy dying. The better half of him, the part that was always there to comfort and help him understand the bustling, colorful world around him, is gone. Kit attempts to help Ty out of the darkest part of his life, and be a shoulder to lean on. They must fight demons, Downworlders, and Unseelie. Clary and Jace are still in Seelie, trying to find the weapon Sebastian left before he was murdered. The Cohort is steadily getting more violent, and Downworlders are frenzied, believing the Clave needs to take steps to stop the Cohort. The Wild Hunt is on a dangerous quest: Find Annabel. They must venture into Unseelie lands, and face the wrath of the King and the Clave. Will the Shadowhunters make it?





	1. Chapter 1

A deep, resonating sound filled the air and pierced through the thick walls around Kit. He heard screams and shouts, glass shattering and the heavy metal clang of swords on swords. Kit furrowed his brow and stumbled to the door. He took one last glance at Magnus, before shouldering the heavy, wooden door of the Inquisitor's office open.  
He sprinted down the hall, feet slamming into the ground beneath him. Light glittered through the glass window panes, slicing through the air before him. He kept running.

The memory of his father dying replayed over and over in his head. Repeating. He was afraid for Ty, the twins, all of the Blackthorns.  
Something was wrong. He could feel it in the twist of his gut and the shaking of his hands. He turned a corridor, and nearly slammed into a dark, wiry Shadowhunter. There was a stampede of people racing from the doors of the Council Hall, looks of blatant shock etched in their faces. They were a whirl of robes and weapons and bodies.

Kit elbowed past people, stepping on feet and snagging clothes. He lurched to the doors. They were thrown wide open, letting the stunning view of Idris -the green, rolling, hills, the incandescent purple of the mountains- stab at his vision. The metallic scent of blood tainted Kit's nose. Alec was collapsed against the doors, eyes wide and body shaking.

Below at the dais, the scene was a mess. Blackthorns screaming. Pools of blood billowing out beneath corpses. A raw, harsh sound ripped through the air. The sound of heartbreak and loss, the knowledge that the thin line your world's peace resided on, was tipped far over the edge.

Kit saw Julian stroking a girl's hair, her head resting in his lap. Julian's hair was matted with blood, and the girl's body was covered in it. No. Livvy.

Kit raced down the steps, taking them three at a time, feeling as if he couldn't get there fast enough. His heart was throwing itself against his rib cage. It couldn't be Livvy. Brave, strong Livvy, always ready to fight. Indestructible Livvy, who was protective of her family no matter what.

Kit saw Ty slumped next to her, face ashen gray, tears spilling down his face. His whole body was shaking, he took Livvy, cradling her body against his. And Kit knew, in this moment, that she was gone. Gone beyond repair. Gone beyond hope. Gone beyond reach.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Helen shoving past the people of the Cohort, trying to get to them. Dru was a crumpled heap, sobbing. Emma's face was a mask of rage and fury and fire.

Kit knelt down beside her, taking her hand, tears rolling down his face. A rolling, boiling, black cloud of despair and rage and anger fogged his mind.  
He had always thought of Shadowhunters as invincible, warriors, always able to stay alive, even against the greatest odds. He thought of them as avenging angels, fighting evil, ridding the world of the hellish things that came with it. All of his fantasies he didn't know he had about Shadowhunters were smashed. They might be part angel, but they were part human after all. Death, was a very real thing, something he hadn't accepted until now. It could twist your heart, break your mind, make the world a miserable place. Kit nearly snapped with the weight of it.

They sat like that, the three of them, as Helen and Aline rushed over, both of them sobbing. Mark ran, sprinting, crying, in his eyes, he looked shattered. Cristina joined them, tears welling up in her wide, brown eyes. Dru crawled over, water streaks sliding through the dirt and blood on her face. Emma knelt down and whispered the words Ave Atque Vale. Hail and Farewell, my sister. And they all knelt, mourning the loss of someone who used to shine so bright, someone who made each of their worlds lighter.

**********

Emma whipped Cortana at a stuffed dummy, slashing and swirling the blade. She violently ripped and tore at the fabric, and cotton littered the ground at her feet. With each swipe, the past few days' worth of rage and worry spilled out of her, emptying her heart and draining her.

She was in the training room in Idris. The wooden boards under her feet creaked as her weight shifted from foot to foot. A slight draft blew through the windows and ruffled her hair.

Thought after thought filled her head and suffocated her. Livvy was dead. She should have protected her, should have seen what was coming. The Mortal Sword was shattered by Cortana. She still didn't know what to think of that, what that could mean for her. Annabel had escaped, possibly taken by the Unseelie king. She was their only shot at stopping the Cohort from taking the LA Institute. Robert Lightwood, possibly her and Julian's only hope for themselves, was killed.

She felt terrible for Alec. She knew that he and his father hadn't agreed in the past, but that a stable relationship between them had been growing. Robert had only just become a grandfather, and now he was dead.

A desperate sob escaped out of Emma. She had dealt with enough pain and torture and death for lifetime. She sat on the creaky, wooden slats of the floor, and exhaled a shaky breath. To her right she heard a squeak. She looked up, and saw Julian leaning against the door frame.

There was a puffy ring of red around his eyes, and his mouth was drawn into a thin line. His hair was a matted, tangled mess, and his clothes were wrinkled and dirty. He wearily walked over to where she sat.

Julian knelt down and embraced her in a fierce, loving hug. She held him, gripping him tightly, not caring that they weren't supposed to be near each other.  
She loved Julian so much, it was unbearable. He was always there for her, a figure to guide her, a friend to comfort her. Her best friend and her family and the light of her life all swirled and twisted and cramped into the wonderful, beautiful person that was Jules.

Emma leaned back and looked at him. "I - how are you doing, after..." She trailed off, not able to finish the sentence.  
"I should have protected her," Julian muttered, pain lacing his tone.

"There was nothing you could have done, she was too far away, and everything was happening too fast," Emma reached out to brush some of the hair out of his face.  
"I-," his voice cracked. "She was only fifteen, she had her whole life ahead of her. She wouldn't be dead right now if I had just waited for Magnus." A tear rolled down his cheek.

"I don't think we could have waited that long. Magnus is still sick, and isn't getting any better," Emma replied, her heart aching for the broken boy in front of her. She dreaded the question she was about to ask. "How is Ty?" She said finally.

"Terrible. He won't speak to anyone. I think he's still trying to process everything." Julian grimaced, a deep and encompassing sadness pooling in his eyes. Emma said nothing, only once again pressed herself up against Julian, letting herself be swallowed up by her world.

**********

Diana walked along a narrow, cobbled street, hand in hand with Gwyn of the Wild Hunt. The wind whistled and blew back her thick, dark, hair. They walked along the twisting and winding roads that sliced through the heart of Idris. Diana was savoring the escape from all the politics. The bustling, crowded halls, people screaming and shouting, the weary looks on people's faces.

They were headed to her old shop, Diana's Arrow. She needed to talk with Gwyn, and wanted to leave the suffocating hassle of everything behind. When they reached her shop, Gwyn stepped forward, and pushed open the heavy, wooden door for her. He had to duck his head slightly as he followed her in, and his shoulders brushed against the sides of the door frame. Diana walked to the other side of the room, beckoned him to come, and started up the rickety stairs to her apartment. She heard a loud thump and a grunt, followed by a long stream of swearing. Diana snickered. Gwyn had probably rammed into something, what with his massive build and broad shoulders.

She pushed open the door to her bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Diana was wearing an elegant, black skirt and white blouse that went nicely set against her dark skin. Her hair was loose against her back, and she was wearing simple, black flats.

Gwyn stumbled into her room, rubbing his side and muttering about too many tables. He drew up a chair from her desk, and plopped down next to her. "Why do Shadowhunters see the need to have so many useless tables," Gwyn grunted.

Diana chuckled. "It’s a efficient way to arm any property against unwanted trespassers." She winked.

Gwyn grumbled and frowned. Diana leaned forward. "I wanted to talk to you in private. I've never felt entirely comfortable around members of the Clave, and certainly do not trust the Cohort." It still surprised Diana that she trusted the leader of the Wild Hunt, a big, intimidating, imposing man. She has only known him for a few weeks, and she was already coming to appreciate his big, bulky presence.

"Annabel has gone, presumably with no intention of coming back. I believe she went into the land of Unseelie. Before she went, the symbol of the King was left in her presence. I don't know what power he possesses that gives him the ability to take Shadowhunters directly from Idris, but it definitely isn't good."

Gwyn nodded, a new crease in his brow. Diana gulped. She hated asking this of him, but knew she had to. For herself. For the Blackthorns. For the Clave.

"Could you-Can you find Annabel Blackthorn? She needs to be captured and brought here, as well as the Black book." Gwyn looked shocked. Whatever he had been expecting, it hadn't been that.

"I-what?" He stuttered. Diana winced.

"Can you and the Wild Hunt search for Annabel, look in Unseelie, do whatever it takes, and find the Black book. There is a war coming, Unseelie against Shadowhunter. He already has the power to prevent Shadowhunters from using their powers and weapons. Imagine what he could do with the Black book and Annabel. He must be stopped."

Gwyn narrowed his eyes, rubbed the back of his neck. "You do realize what you are asking me goes against the law, the code of honor, that the Wild Hunt lives by?" Diana grimaced. She had feared this would be his response. She rolled her shoulders, and straightened up.

"Yes, but you are our only chance. Shadowhunters need all the allies we can get. We would have been outnumbered before the Dark war, and now we are tragically so. Please."

Diana tried to force all of her worry and anger and despair into that one word. Gwyn sighed and leaned back, looking defeated.

"I regret ever having developed a soft spot for you," he sighed.

She was surprised that he had given in so easily. A burst of hope exploded inside Diana's chest.

"Fine. I will do it. It will not be easy to persuade my Hunters to ride against the Lord of Shadows, but I will try. For you, not for Shadowhunters. They have not much appreciated or respected us these past thousand years, and if not for you Diana, I would not have softened up to them."

Diana whispered, "Thank you. You are kind, Gwyn. Kind and brave and loyal, and you have given me a new hope for us all."

Diana hugged him tightly, putting all of the other unspoken words between them in that one embrace. She drew back, and Gwyn looked at her fondly. "I will return, my fair lady."

He winked at her before lumbering over to the window. He summoned his steed, and galloped off into the brilliant blue sky. He burst through a fluffy, white cloud, and waved. Diana watched him until he was no more than a disappearing speck on the horizon, and quietly pulled the curtains closed.

**********

Jia Penhallow rubbed her temple. All the noise was giving her a pounding headache. The shouts of people talking over each other were drowning out her thoughts.  
The Clave was gathered for a meeting, all bunched up in the Council Hall. How she hated this. They needed to vote in a new Inquisitor, now that Robert was dead.  
She regretted it. Robert had been a good friend, and was a steady presence in any room. She wished that as Consul she had enough power to simply choose a new Inquisitor.

Jia had to summon another meeting tomorrow, to address the issues of Annabel, the Unseelie king, and the Mortal Sword. Jia still couldn't quite believe that the Mortal Sword was shattered.

A mere day had passed since that chaotic afternoon. Too many murders. Too many injuries. It felt like so much longer. The stress and strain of being Consul was finally catching up to her.

Jia pulled herself back into the present. She drew herself up, straightened her spine, rolled her shoulders. Jia called for attention. She waited a moment for the talking to subside, then raised her voice. Another few seconds and the chatter in the room stopped echoing off the walls. Jia could feel the brilliant, bright sun of Idris beating down on her back through the high paned windows.

"As each of you very well know, our Inquisitor, Robert Lightwood was murdered as of yesterday. He was a fine Shadowhunter, loyal and levelheaded. My sympathies are extended to his family."Jia spoke in a clear voice, one that carried, the way she had always been taught. To command a room's attention, first you needed to grab it. She glanced briefly at Alec. His hair was mussed up, deep shadows painted under his eyes. He was wearing a blue sweater, one riddle with holes.

"The reason we are here today, is to elect a new Inquisitor. Holding the position of Inquisitor is not an easy one, nor should you take it lightly. The Law is you, and you are the Law." Jia heard someone snicker near the back of the room.

"I will take nominations for this position, and then we will vote."

There was a brief rustling of movement and whispers. A few loose papers fell to the ground, before someone stood up. Zara. Zara Dearborn. Jia suppressed a groan.

"I nominate my father, Horace Dearborn, as a candidate for this position."

Dearborn grinned wickedly at his daughter. Jia flinched, and she heard a sharp intake of breath. Alec Lightwood. If Dearborn got voted in as Inquisitor, the Cohort would rise and conquer Downworlders, no obstacles in their way. Jia sighed, a frustrated, exasperated sigh.

"Very well. Any other nominations?" A young boy, with dark hair and dark skin, stood up.

"I nominate my father, Lazlo Balogh, as a candidate for this position." Jia nodded, the boy sat back down.

A few others, a Branwell, an Ashdown, a Highsmith, and a Pangborn volunteered. One after the other. Up, down. Rise, fall. A few moments passed. Tick tock. Jia had just opened her mouth to speak when she heard the creak of the floor. She turned her head. On her left, standing shakily, but looking prideful all the same, was Diana Wrayburn. Diana opened her mouth, closed it. Then opened it again. She seemed determined, that fierce fire in her eyes, as if daring anyone to challenge her.

"I nominate-," she began. "I nominate myself as a candidate for this position."

Jia was shocked. Pleased, but shocked. Diana had always declined the position of Head of the LA Institute. She didn't know her reasons, but expected she had them all the same. To nominate herself as Inquisitor, that was a big step up from Institute head. Jia didn't know what had changed, but suspected it was big. Diana had always politely and firmly denied her adamant requests that she change her mind. At least now there was a chance. A chance that everything wouldn't turn south. Jia didn't know everything about Diana Wrayburn, but she knew that her intentions were pure. Horace Dearborn could only make everything worse.

"Thank you, Diana. I believe that concludes our nominations." She waited a second for anyone to argue. "Let us vote."

Diana was scared. Scared that this would go right. Scared that this would go wrong. She didn't know which meant she became Inquisitor, and which meant she didn't. Diana was still shocked at herself. Everything she had done in the past, was to avoid being questioned with the use of the Mortal Sword. But things had changed. The Mortal Sword was broken. The Clave was in tatters.

And Gwyn... somehow talking to Gwyn, spilling everything, made her predicament seem easier. Made the burden easier to hold. And she knew that her pride, her dignity, was not as important as the Blackthorns, rights for Downworlders, or Shadowhunters as a whole. She had to at least try. If the entire Clave knowing that she was a trans woman was a sacrifice she had to make for the lives of thousands, she would.

Because she knew that the entire Cohort would vote for Dearborn. Horace Dearborn was a wicked man, and would turn all of Downworld against them. Start a civil war between Shadowhunters, though at this point, Diana was sure a civil war was inevitable. They certainly felt on the brink of it. The rest of the nominees weren't strong willed enough for this job. They would never get voted in. Diana was popular and well-liked enough that she might have a chance. And while Diana was lost, buried deep inside her head, the Clave voted.

Jia could hear the scratch of pens on paper, people muttering to one another. The chime of the clock marking the hour. Jia didn't have to think much about her decision. She would vote for Diana.

Diana was a strong leader. She was smart and honorable and levelheaded. Jia scribbled Diana's name on a slip of paper. Jia slipped down from her position on the dais. She walked among the rows of people, gathering the papers into a neat bundle. She strode back up to the dais, and began counting.

One by one. Two by two. Tallied up the votes and marked them down. A scratch here. A scratch there. Her heart was pounding all the way. She finished. Almost relieved. It wasn't done yet, but it wasn't over. Jia cleared her throat. The Clave looked up at her attentively. Waiting.

"The final tally. Balogh received four votes, Ashdown received eleven, Branwell received six, Pangborn received seventeen, Dearborn received forty-two, and Wrayburn received forty."

Dearborn smiled, a sick, triumphant smile, that sent chills down Jia's spine. How much easier it would be to lock him up in the Bone City. But there was no proof of crimes, past or present. A groan came from across one side of the room. Jia ignored it, and plunged forward.

"By all rights, Horace Dearborn has won. But Diana Wrayburn was close, so very close. I trust Diana fully, and think she would do well as the Inquisitor. By the power of the Consul, I say that I will give Diana Wrayburn another shot. She and Horace must both prove to me that they are capable for the job."

Mad shouts and outcries exploded from the crowd. She had expected this. This wasn't the normal way of things, but Jia was tired of normal.

"Whomever can prove to me that they can handle this position in some way, I don't care what, two weeks from now at sundown, they will be chosen as the next Inquisitor for the Shadowhunters."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont worry it lightens up


	2. Chapter 2

Kit slouched into the kitchen the next day. Julian was making pancakes. He looked weary, and shaky, and broken, but he was making pancakes all the same.  
Kit had spent all of yesterday sitting in his room thinking. Thinking. Trying not to think. Trying not to think about not thinking.

Kit would have to talk to Ty eventually, but he was glad he wasn't down here now. It was too early for serious stuff. He had promised himself that today, there would be no thinking, no thoughts.

Cristina was slumped against the table, and Emma was sitting on the counter besides Julian. Emma nodded in greeting, and Kit muttered one back.  
Emma was criticizing how much sugar he was putting into their food,  
and Julian was smiling softly.

Kit collapsed onto the chair across from Cristina, and groaned, "Coffee." Emma reached behind her to start making a mug, and Cristina blearily asked for one too.  
Kit rubbed his hands against his eyes, and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. Why did Shadowhunters have to wake up at the crack of dawn every day?  
A few minutes passed. Kit could feel the cool breeze on his back through the open windows. The leaves in the trees were rustling, telling a story to only those who would listen.

Julian swept a stack of steaming pancakes in front of him, and Kit dug in. At least they were good cooks.  
Julian sank down in the seat next to him. Emma joined Cristina, carrying two cups of coffee, and plopped down in an old, lopsided chair.  
After inhaling more than his fair share of pancakes, and draining his mug of coffee, Kit felt able to actually function for the day.

"So what are we doing today?" Kit mumbled through a mouthful of food.

"Tracking down a rogue Downworlder, just on the edge of Idris," Julian replied.

"Am I coming?" Kit asked, not really caring about the answer.

"Sure, if you want to. You need the training," Emma responded.

"Okay." Kit prodded at his plate with his fork, still feeling too sleepy to argue that his fighting was just fine.

"Why can't they send someone else out, like an adult?"

"All the adults are in another meeting. Deciding what to do about...the recent events. So we have to go deal with the Downworlder," Julian said plainly and evenly.  
Kit could tell, though, that behind that mask, was a life's worth of pain. Kit knew, because that was the same mask he was wearing right now.  
Shadowhunters weren't supposed to feel pain, but Kit knew that they all did. It was like losing a sister.

But Kit also knew that the best thing to do right now, was to take his mind off all of the thoughts swirling around in his head right now.  
Fighting would do that. That cool, slow burn of adrenaline that pumped through you in a battle, would do that.

"Okay," Kit replied again.

"Then let's go get our gear," Emma said, obviously eager to get out.  
Kit groaned. Still too early.

Kit shoveled a last mouthful of pancake in him, cleared off his plate, and went to go change into his gear.  
Kit headed to his room upstairs.

He thumped up a flight of creaky, ancient, wooden stairs. He hoped they didn't cave in on him. When he got to his room, he glanced around.  
It was a small room, a little window letting in a ray of dazzling light. His bed covers were messed up, and a few extra shirts were piled up in the corner.  
Kit strode over to a heavy chest. He latched his fingers under the crevice in the lid, and lifted up.  
He grunted. Nothing. Too heavy. Kit grumbled. He needed to train more.

Kit abandoned it and went over to the wardrobe near the side of his bed. He pulled the doors open.  
A rat came scurrying out, and Kit jumped back and yelled, hitting his head on the ceiling. Cursing and rubbing the back of his head, Kit peeked inside. Jackpot.  
Some dusty old Shadowhunter gear was folded up neatly in piles at the bottom of the closet. Kit grabbed a few different sizes, and went to try them on. He finally found one pair that somewhat fit.

The shirt was a little to big, and the pants were a little too short, but it looked okay. He pulled on a pair of black shoes.  
Kit brushed off the last of the dust and dirt, then headed back downstairs to get some weapons. Hopefully they had some expensive knives or daggers he could "borrow."

*********

Emma shouldered open the heavy, ancient doors, and jumped down the front steps. They were all piled at the bottom, chattering about plans and weapons and how to get there when she joined them.

Julian, Cristina, Kit. Mark had decided to come along with them.  
He wanted to get out of the stifling rooms and get a taste of nature. To feel free. That was all he had told her, but Emma thought he also wanted to escape his thoughts, like she did.

Livvy was dead. Emma still felt that sharp, stabbing feeling in her heart. Emma still felt pain. It seemed as if a great, roiling, thunderstorm, all grays and blacks and shadows, was attacking her and suffocating her. Slowly killing her. Emma wished she could fight her own thoughts.  
But now, more than pain and despair, she felt anger. A desire, a need, for revenge. Livvy hadn't deserved to die. Just like her parents. She had loved Livvy, just like her parents.

And now they were all gone. Emma needed to kill the Unseelie King. She wanted to kill Annabel. For Livvy.  
A heavy hand on her shoulder brought her back and grounded her. Julian. They weren't technically allowed to be by each other, but Robert was dead.  
Julian was gazing at her intently, waiting for a response. She didn't know what he had asked. Emma shook her head and demanded, "What?"  
Julian drew back his hand and scratched his arm.

He replied quietly, "Do you want to walk to the edge of Brocelind forest, or ride a horse there?"

There were no cars in Idris. The engines in them didn't work with the wards and the demon towers. All the magic floating and tainting and coloring the air obscured artificial things.

"Let's ride," Emma said.

**********

They saddled up the horses, packing food and extra weapons with. Julian had told Mark and the others that the Downworlder they were dealing with was a faerie.  
Go figure. But Mark was excited. He was excited to fight. Excited to get outside. Excited to ride again.  
Riding horses always made him feel closer to the Wild Hunt. Closer to the bright, blue sky and the fiery, red sun, and the twinkling infinite stars. That was what he missed most about the Hunt. Riding through the night.

Mark pulled himself up onto his horse, a raven black steed.

He settled himself in, savoring this moment.  
Mark glanced around at his fellow riders.

Julian was sitting on a chocolate brown horse, a star shaped white patch in between its eyes. Emma was on a gray dappled one, spotted and spotted and spotted. Cristina was riding a brick colored one, a red brown horse with its head held high and whinnying. Kit was carelessly perched on another brown one, this one darker and smoother. They looked ready. Mark bucked his knees and lead them on.

For a long time, they rode over rolling, green hills, creeks cracking and spilling over them. Wildflowers dotted the landscape, adorning and decorating it.  
"Where are Helen and Aline?" Someone asked. Cristina.

"At the Consul's. Jia hasn't seen her daughter for a long time, and I'm sure they had a lot to catch up on," Julian replied.  
Mark blurted out, "And Kieran?"

"Diana told me Gwyn wanted to see him. She didn't say why. Some mission," Julian said.

Mark wondered how Julian was doing. He was closer to all the kids than Mark had been. It was a wonder he was able to do anything at all.  
Mark knew Julian felt responsible for his sister's death. Julian was an actor, a good one. He could hide his emotions and lie like a con artist. Even Mark could tell he was in pain right now, and that was probably with doing the best he could to hide it.

Mark could only imagine the full extent of what he felt. They kept travelling. The sun rose higher in the sky, and the heat was starting to crank up.  
Mark saw a patch of peonies, and his stomach sank. They had always been Livvy's favorite when she was little. Mark thrust that thought aside.  
He had spent all of yesterday crying, mourning his sister, his beautiful baby sister.

He had just returned from faerie, from the Wild Hunt, and then she had left. Except this time, there was no chance of her ever coming back.  
Ty was worse. He wouldn't speak to anyone, just knelt at Livvy's side, and hugged her and cried. Mark's heart throbbed for his brother, but he didn't know how to help him, how to ease his pain.

Mark shoved all of his thoughts down again, and focused on the path in front of him.  
They were nearing the forest. They had been travelling for a few hours, and it was nearly midday now. Brocelind forest was big, trees jutted out from the edges, thick and twisted and winding. Patches of sunlight shined through the cracks in the leaves, illuminating the ground around it.  
They galloped nearer, closing the gap between them and the forest.

When they reached the edge of the forest, they all stopped.

Emma was the first to scoot forwards, Cortana gleaming in her hand. They had all brought seraph blades, but loads of extra non-runed weapons in case they didn't work.  
Mark had a few daggers and knives, along with his elf-bolt tied around his neck. Cristina had her butterfly knives, Julian, had a few blades, and Kit had a few throwing knives and a shortsword. They were ready.

**********

Kit wasn't ready. He had next to no training, and didn't want to deal with some insane faerie that could potentially kill him, and with his luck, it would. Julian had explained to them, with Emma butting in every once in awhile, that the faerie wasn't allowed to be in Idris.  
A few Shadowhunters from the Shadowhunter Academy had gone off to go deal with it, but had come back injured, skin slashed, and clothes torn. Now it was up to them to deal with it.

No one else seemed nervous or worried, so Kit tried to appear calm.  
He'd dealt with worse, but faeries weirded him out. They were tricky and sneaky, and could make one thing mean something else entirely.  
Emma beckoned them forwards. Her striking blonde hair was knotted back in a braid. She held Cortana steadily and comfortably in her palm. All of her gear fit. Kit grumbled, wishing for not the first time that his did.

Emma started forward, leading the rest of them. They trailed and tromped through the forest.  
Emma and Julian took out their witchlights, lighting them so that they could see through the dense trees and thickets. That was a good sign. Shadowhunter magic worked here, which would give them the advantage. Maybe.

Kit stepped on a twig, cracking it. They shuffled through fallen leaves, and overgrown grass. Kit could taste the sweet water of Lake Lyn on his tongue.  
His feet were soaked through, the dew of the early morning still lingering here in the dark, shielded from the sun by the canopies of the trees.  
They skirted around a blight, an area of land, smoldered and gray and dead. It was desolate and ashen. It was depressing, to see the land of something once so bright and beautiful snuffed out so quickly.  
They kept going. On and on and on.

They crossed a dark clearing. A stream was bubbling and winding through it. They reached the other side, nearly through the trees.  
Julian's witchlight flickered, then was extinguished. It was like a candle being blown out by a gust of wind. Emma's flared, then blinked out too.  
Emma drew out a seraph blade, muttered something, then cursed and threw it down.

"It doesn't work," Emma groaned.

Kit had figured this would happen. He scuffed his feet together, unsure what to do. Emma shifted Cortana in her grip, then turned around, her back facing them. "Guess we can't use our seraph blades. Stay alert," She called.

Then Emma forged on ahead. Kit followed, a new fear in his stomach.  
They reached a clearing, wide and clear, and untouched. Except, for well, maybe the giant smears of blood streaking the ground. That shouldn't go unmentioned. Kit pointed, and said "Looks like we've found our guy."

"Yeah, thanks, I didn't notice," Emma replied, sarcasm dripping from her tone.

Cristina snickered, walking over to the first patch of blood. It looked old. It was dried and dark, crunching with the grass underneath Cristina's feet.  
She knelt down, black hair swinging in its ponytail. She pressed a hand to the ground. Mark strode over, crouching down beside her. They conferred briefly in whispered tones, sounding urgent and excited. The wind picked up its pace, ruffling and flying through Kit's hair. It was stinging his face, and felt pleasant. It was refreshing from the humid air and scorching heat.

"The blood looks several days old. Whatever was here is long gone," Cristina announced.

Julian nodded his head. "We may as well follow the blood and see where it goes."

Julian slung a blade from his weapons belt and started forward. They clustered around him. Kit retrieved a long, gold hilted dagger with jagged edges. He stomped through the mud, flattening the grass around him as he walked.  
They tromped through the clearing.

The streaks took them on a winding dirt road through Brocelind forest.  
It was getting darker now. The areas of sky Kit could see through the branches of the trees were turning a light lavender color.  
The ground underneath them became rockier. More dangerous. Kit picked his way through stones and boulders. One time he tripped, only just catching himself before he face planted on the ground.

The neared a cave. A big, sprawling, rocky one. One with stalagmites and stalactites.  
It had a haunted, eerie feeling. It felt like tendrils of darkness were reaching out to you and wrapping you up, squeezing you tighter and tighter and tighter, draining you.  
Kit stepped back, his stomach being compressed and his heart beating furiously. He didn't like this cave. At all.  
Mark stepped forward. They had no light to see by. Just them and this darkness.

Mark drew a long, thin knife. Emma raised Cortana, light glinting off the polished metal. Cristina armed herself with her butterfly knives, and Julian, with a short sword.  
They lurched in, giving way to the darkness. Just them and this darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soon i promise


	3. Chapter 3

Emma trailed her hand along the rough, rocky, walls of the tunnel. She kept on the right side, to keep going in a straight line. She couldn't see a thing.

Emma held her left hand in front of her face, wiggling her fingers, squinting her eyes, and frowning. Her eyes hadn't adjust to the lack of light. She suspected they wouldn't.

This darkness felt heavier, pushing on her chest like a weight was there. It was thick and smoky, enveloping around her. Emma had already tried her witchlight. It didn't work. She had tried lighting her seraph blade, but that didn't work either. At least she had Cortana.

Emma's boots trailed through a slimy puddle of water, and she stuck out her tongue. She could hear the splashing of feet behind her, and the click of boots on rock. They kept walking. It already felt like they had been walking for ages, and Emma's legs were starting to get sore. She hoped they didn't have much longer. They'd already been scouting out this faerie for hours, and she had gotten barely any sleep last night.

She had a recurring nightmare, slashing through her dreams and splitting them open. She shuddered now, just thinking about it. They ventured around a few bends in the tunnel. None of them were talking It didn't feel right somehow, like whatever was here could sneak up on them if they did.

Some light was beginning to creep into the passageway, from somewhere farther ahead. It was a relief from the suffocating darkness. It also meant that they were close to something interesting. Emma craved some fighting. It was boring to walk all day, and her muscles were starting to cramp up from having to crouch slightly for so long.

Emma heard a hushed voice up ahead, echoing off the walls of the chamber, bouncing and resounding.

The voice was melodic and sweet, reminding Emma of sugar. It made Emma want to chase it, follow it.

The voice was chanting a language. A demonic language. Emma hardly ever studied demon languages, hadn't since she was twelve and first training, but she had heard enough demonic tongues to know that this was one.

Emma regretted bringing Kit.This was probably going to be more dangerous that she had thought, and Kit had next to no trained fighting skills. Emma whipped Cortana out. Feeling the hilt in her palm always steadied her. She faced Mark and Julian, both had weapons in their hands. She looked at them, nodded once, and ushered them forwards.

To Cristina, she muttered, "Keep an eye on Kit." Christina winked at her and smiled. Emma could feel a grin stretching over her teeth.

She nodded at Cristina, then faced Julian and Mark. "Ready? Let's go check this thing out," Emma whispered to them.

They crept forwards as silently as possible. Emma wished she could use a soundless rune. It was so much less work. Emma could sense Kit and Cristina behind her, and she kept sneaking closer to the chanting. They reached the end of the tunnel.

There was a large, roughly circular chamber, maybe twenty feet high. Emma wondered how far underground they were.

It was brightly lit with fire, metal brackets tracing the outline of the room. On the walls, paintings and symbols of demons and angels scattered the landscape. In the center, a large pentagram was drawn with a thick, red sticky, fluid. Blood probably. It usually wasn't paint.

A woman was hunched over a book, reading from it, in the center. Words were scrawled on the thin, translucent pages of the leather bound book. It was worn, and ripped. Dried blood stained the cover and coated the pages. The woman had pale, blonde hair that cascaded down her back and covered her shoulders. Her hair was tucked behind long, pointed ears. A faerie. This was the one.

Emma could see the outline of her face, and her smooth, pale skin. Mark stepped into the light, dagger drawn, and jabbed the tip into the woman's back.

"Halt. You are disobeying the order of the Clave. If you stop now, I will not harm you." The woman looked up at him, her eyes were glazed over, and she hadn't stopped chanting her spell. It was so annoying when you had to do things the hard way.

Emma gripped Cortana tighter. She stepped closer to the kneeling woman, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She sensed Julian behind her, ready to back her up. Emma snatched the back of the woman's shirt, and pulled her up. She set Cortana against her throat, pressing hard.

"Stop what you're doing, now," Emma hissed between her teeth. The woman grinned maliciously, still speaking, her eyes glazed over. Emma shivered. This was creepy, and she wanted this over as soon as possible. She slit the faerie's throat, watching as the blood slid down her neck. The woman didn't react only kept chanting.

Emma blanched. She should be dead now, but nothing had changed. She tried to stab the faerie in the chest, but the woman gripped Cortana in her hand, pushing her back with unbelievable force.

She didn't seem fazed by her shredded hand. Kit started forward behind her, but Emma pushed him back with her empty hand. Emma growled and swung at her again.

All the fires flickered, then extinguished, all but one on the far side of the room. Emma could feel the darkness creeping in, suffocating her. Someone behind her gasped. It was squeezing her now, knocking the breath out of her. Emma snarled and forced it back.

Something was moving in the middle of the pentagram, something she couldn't quite see. It was dark and fanged and dangerous looking. Emma watched as the form of it began to solidify, shifting and squishing together. A mouth was beginning to become apparent. It was rimmed with fangs, dripping venomous ichor. The demon was huge, more than fifteen feet tall, and it towered over each of them.

This was a Greater Demon. Azazel. She could tell from his signature black, deceased looking skin, that it was him.

Azazel would be weak, from being summoned, but he was still one of the Nine Princes of Hell.

Emma wished she had eaten more pancakes, she definitely wished they hadn't brought Kit along, and she wished they had half the Clave with them, no matter how frustrating they might be. For maybe the first time, Emma doubted she could kill this thing.

Azazel leered down at them, smirking, probably thinking, puny humans. I must smite them. Emma wasn't up for being smited today. She would slaughter this thing, piece by piece, and she planned to make it as miserable and drawn out and possible. Emma raised Cortana, bared her teeth, and charged.

**********

Julian watched Emma lunge at Azazel. He gritted his teeth, and smashed towards the Greater Demon.

He didn't have the faintest idea how they would kill it. They couldn't use any angelic weapons, and sunlight was covered by hundreds of pounds of rock. He stabbed and slashed at the demon's ankle, and Cristina ran over to help him.

They were fighting side by side, and Mark had just started advancing. "No!" Julian yelled. "Kill the faerie. Get Kit,"

He panted. They didn't need any more threats than what was right in their faces. Julian blocked swipes and slashes. He desperately attempted to ignite his seraph blade, but it was no use. Cristina had her butterfly knives out, and was a swirl of black, twisting through the air, parrying attacks, and giving them just as swiftly.

Julian snatched another dagger from his weapon belt, and threw it, aiming for Azazel's heart. Azazel simply grabbed it out of the air, grinning wickedly, his mouth stretching over raw gums and gleaming, white, sharp teeth. He gripped it in his disgusting blackened hand, and whipped it back at Julian.

Julian ducked, and it shattered against the rocky wall behind him. Julian caught a glimpse of Kit and Mark, fighting the faerie. He wondered what was making them so hard to kill, but it looked as if they were managing to finish her off. Julian grabbed a long, sharp, knife from his belt, wielding it tightly. He only had a few more weapons left.

He had a tear in his gear on his torso and left shoulder. Julian struck again and again, spilling ichor and splattering it everywhere. Azazel didn't seem fazed, and his skin stitched back up.

Julian was worried for Emma, though he knew he shouldn't be. Emma was a far better fighter than he was. She trained around the clock, sprinting, practicing, fighting. This battle was just getting started.

At some point Kit and Mark joined him, looking beaten up and scratched, but not severely injured. They kept fighting. Julian started feeling the burning fire in his muscles. He was wearing out. A strength rune would have been handy, but they had to do the best they could.

Julian couldn't believe that Azazel was in a severely weakened state right now. He was putting everything he had into beating him, and it wasn't working very well. Emma had managed somehow to climb onto Azazel's back. She was stabbing him in the heart, thrusting Cortana in with all her strength.

It looked as if it was working. Azazel was howling and roaring. His head thrown back, and he was trying to rip Emma off. He was shaking her, and clawing at her with his brittle, long, fingernails, but she held on. Julian stabbed him in the stomach, hoping to distract him.

Although they couldn't use angelic weapons to beat him, stabbing anything in the heart enough times ought to do the trick.

Azazel was getting really enraged now. He reached behind him, prying an exhausted Emma off. He slammed her into the opposite wall, throwing her with all of his force. Emma collapsed, blood drained from her face, and unconscious.

Julian heard a sickening crack, and a long thin line was running along the wall he had thrown Emma against.

Julian let out a roar of rage. All of the pent up anger and sorrow exploded out of him, with the force of a gunshot. Fire coursed through his veins, crackling and sparking with heat. He had already lost a loved one. He couldn't lose another one too, not his parabatai.

Fury erupted from his heart and soul, charging and electrocuting the air around him. Azazel stumbled back, the middle of his chest was lit up, burning from the inside. Bits and pieces of his blackened, charred flesh was floating in the air. His torso was exploding, burning with whatever power Julian had used inside him. Azazel had a look of surprise on his face, as he was glancing down at his slowly disintegrating body.

Mark, Kit, and Cristina's faces were illuminated. They were awestruck, staring confusedly at the demon. Azazel vanished with a final burst of light, heating the chambers, and blowing back the fires. Julian sprinted over to where Emma lay, blankly trying to draw an iratze on her arm. It worked, thank the Angel. It burned against her skin, fiery and red.

It seemed that now with the faerie girl and Azazel gone, their angelic powers worked in the cave, with nothing left to suck them up. The blood slowly came back to Emma's face, heating her up. Her breathing came back steadily.

Julian exhaled a sigh of relief. She would be okay. Her head was being mended up where it had cracked against the wall. Julian slumped down. He heard some shuffling.

Mark placed a hand on his shoulder, and murmured "Let me see your arm, brother." Julian wearily lifted his arm, and Mark grasped it firmly with his hand. He felt the burn of the iratze, and his skin slowly stitched back together. Kit and Cristina were giving each other healing runes, heads bent, conferring in low voices.

Julian stood up, feeling better already. He grabbed Emma gently, and slung her over his shoulder. She would need some rest before she would be completely fine again. Julian picked up his dropper daggers on the floor. They were stained with ichor, but the metal still shone through the goop.

Julian adjusted his gear and looked up. Cristina was glaring at him fiercely.

"What was that, what you just did?" She demanded.

Julian groaned. "I'll tell you later. I'm too tired to talk right now."

Julian snatched up a metal brazen, flames alight, and marched towards the tunnel. He gestured for them to follow him. He heard feet slamming on the ground behind him, and the whispers of people. He felt the burn of their stares on his back. Julian dreaded when he would have to tell them everything. He was already making up a story, weaving pieces together in his mind, of what to tell the Clave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost there


	4. Chapter 4

The cackle of a cawing seagull exploded through the air, piercing the peaceful silence, broken only by waves crashing against the sandy beach.  
Gwyn glanced up, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. It was beginning to set, dipping down lower in the darkening sky, but it was holding on to its last threads of energy.

He unlatched a massive hunting horn from his side, pressing it between his lips and blew.

Gwyn was summoning the Wild Hunt. A shudder of anticipation ran through him, trickling through his veins. He was breaking so many rules, and he wasn't sure if his men would come during the day, no matter how close it was to dusk.

This was probably a suicide mission, one that would test everything he had.

But he would do it for Diana. She was a good person, trying to do her best, and although Gwyn had no place in his heart for Shadowhunters, or any patience for their politics, he would do it for her.

She had opened up to him about her past, something it seemed had been difficult for her to do, something she had told nobody else, and had trusted him. He would repay that trust, and help. He was a man of honor, if nothing else.

Gwyn was sitting on top of his brilliant, jet black stallion, the wind ruffling his hair, and the salty taste of the ocean tainting his mouth.  
He was studying the waves, the light glimmering off the surface of the water, white, frothing foam bubbling against the waves.  
Gwyn would have to persuade them quickly. He was their leader, but they were also a team. It was faster that way, easier to sprint through the skies if you knew each of your fellow comrades had your back.

He heard the soft thud of a hoof landing on the slippery sand behind him, breaking Gwyn out of his reverie.  
He turned around, nudging his steed forwards with a push of his foot.

It was a wind tousled, bedraggled, Kieran. His blue and silver eyes were shining, piercing the breeze. His hair was the same shade as the ocean, glinting shades of black and blue, woven and threaded together in each strand. He was barefooted, white linens coating him. A brown horse was lazily standing behind him.

"Greetings, Kieran Hunter. It is time to ride. We have a special mission, one you may not like," Gwyn said, watching his expression carefully.

"Greetings returned Gwyn Ap Nudd. It will be an honor to hunt by your side once more. May I ask what this mission is that you speak of?" Kieran's face remained impassive, but he edged forwards slightly, head ducked.

"I will address that matter when the remainder of my Hunters decide to join us."

Kieran nodded, stepping back up onto his horse, sliding on its smooth, bare, back.  
Kieran had been the closest, no doubt. Gwyn wasn't far from Idris, and he knew Kieran had been staying in one of the houses there.  
It wouldn't take long for the rest of his riders to come. A few silent minutes passed, thoughts were swirling around in Gwyn's head, and untamed emotions tagged along with them.

A swirl of flying horses interrupted him, there were maybe thirty in all. They were coming, speckled horses, brown ones, black and white and gray dappled steeds.  
They landed softly, almost silently, their owners slid off them, ducking into a graceful bow of respect.

They stood and Gwyn dipped his head. A few more stragglers blotted the sky above them, Gwyn waited patiently for them to land.  
They paid their respects, forming a group in front of him. Gwyn, collected and composed, adjust the straps of his armor, then looked down at them levelly, fixing each of them with a hard stare.

"Attention my Hunters. I have for you a dangerous mission, possibly life threatening, one that I myself will accompany you on. It is far different from the norm, and dispels many of our rules. But things have changed. War is coming, and it will strike quick and fast and mercilessly. We need to do what we must, whether or not that is what is easy," Gwyn shifted on his horse, uncomfortable with all the questioning eyes looking up at him.

He cleared his throat.

"This quest, goes against what we have done before, and possibly the rule of the Clave. We will penetrate the land of the Unseelie, preferably undetected. Our goal, is to find and capture Annabel Blackthorn along with the Black Book."

Cries of outrage and surprise burst along the crowd gathered, bald looks of shock etched in their faces.

"But we only ride in battle! We scavenge our riders from the dying, we do not seek to capture fugitives of the Law!" Someone shouted angrily.

"We cannot go against the Lord of Shadows. He will slaughter and burn us all. We swore an oath to never take sides. That is not something we can break," another person screamed.

Murmurs and chatters and shouts resounded, and made Gwyn's earlobes throb.

"Enough!" He yelled. Silence struck them down, some of them pausing mid sentence, mouths hanging open, and a few fists raised.

"I am aware that it is not ideal. It breaks a great deal of laws. But I am your leader. You will do as I say. I command you, and I say that this is what must be done. We need to stop this war, or we shall undoubtedly be killed by one side or the other. Let us do this and earn our trust with Shadowhunters and stop centuries of fighting and arguments. Let us stop the Cold Peace, alleviate the pain for some of our peoples. We must do this," Gwyn said, fierce and imperious.

Kieran stood, wind lashing at his bare skin, and stepped towards him.

"I will stand by you, Leader of the Hunt. I must try to protect the Shadowhunters. I have made friends among them, and I do not want them to be injured. You have saved my life many times, and that is something I must repay."

Gwyn nodded, swallowing the bile that had risen in his throat. Adaon carefully stood, walking towards Gwyn, brushing some of the hair out of his eyes.  
"I will help you find this Annabel girl and this book. I must serve my duty to you."

Gwyn replied, "Thank you, Adaon." One by one, minute by minute, more of them joined him.

Gwyn glanced up nervously at the sky. Time was ticking, the sun was setting deeper, and swaths of red and orange and pink painted the sky.  
Ronan stood up gracefully, anger lit behind his eyes.

As though he were attempting to keep his voice steady, he announced, "I will not ride with you Gwyn. I respect you, but I loathe the Shadowhunters more. They have torn apart my family, and have no respect for the Hunt or the fey. I cannot obey their wishes."

Gwyn frowned, glaring down at him.

"It is not their wishes you are choosing to not obey, Ronan Hunter. It is mine. You are bound to us, willingly or not, and you will come with us."  
Ronan glared back, furious, his muscles tense and hard.

"Fine," he snapped. "But do not expect me to appreciate this. I could not care less about this mission. Do well to remember that Gwyn," he spat.

Gwyn had to physically refrain himself from rolling his eyes. He merely nodded stiffly once. Nobody else seemed in the mood for arguing. A few had their arms crossed, but nobody would dare disrespect him.

They gathered up their packs of weapons, food, and equipment, strapping them onto the backs of therr horses. Each of them checking and double checking everything, stepped up and swung their legs over their mounts.

Gwyn finished sharpening one of his hunting knives. He glanced back at them, studying each. Kieran nodded once at him, giving Gwyn a firm stare.  
Gwyn settled into his horse, squeezing its sides with his legs. It trotted forward, gaining speed. Gwyn took out his hunting horn, blowing it hard.

His horse sprinted into the water, but instead of slipping through, it landed on a flat surface, illuminated by the moon, the light slicing a path through the water.  
The bright, twinkling stars dotted the velvet night.  
The hunt had begun.

**********

Helen shuffled through the door, hand intertwined tightly with Aline's. Her scarf was twisted loosely around her neck, strands of shimmering, light, blonde hair catching in the wind.

They were there to meet Jia, her mother-in-law. Aline was obviously excited. Her face was flushed red, and she was all jittery and jumpy. Her beautiful, dark, eyes were sparkling, and it looked as if she were trying not to smile.

Helen grinned at her, ever thankful that she was married to her. Aline was so loyal, so faithful, having married her and being banished with her.  
Helen wondered briefly when they would have to head back to Wrangel Island, but she shoved that thought aside.

The sky was already dark, the moon was out, an imposing, striking figure, splashing the night.

Jia had been in meetings all day, being Consul and all, and this was the only opportunity they had had to visit her.

Helen's combat boots loudly resounded off the bare wooden planks of the floor. She shrugged of her coat and shoes, leaving a sweater and jeans on underneath. Aline took her coat, hanging it up on the rack, then took off her jacket as well. Helen muttered a word of thanks, turning around. Aline, both hands up, called for her mother.  
They heard a loud thump above them, and a long stream of swearing.

Helen smirked, taking Aline again by the hand, and walked into the next room.  
Jia had just come down the steps, looking frazzled and her hair all out of its bun. Helen noticed that she had several more gray hairs than the last time she had seen her. The stress was finally getting to her.

Jia rushed to Aline, embracing her, hugging her tightly and looking as if she never wanted to let go. Aline gripped her back, beaming.  
"You've no idea how much I've missed you," Jia whispered.

"Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea," Aline said, "Probably about the same amount that I've missed you."  
Jia stepped back, smiling at her fondly, and patted Aline's cheek.

She stepped over to Helen, smiling at her, then hugged her. Helen wrapped her arms around her, a little burst of happiness lit inside her chest. She was home.  
Jia unwrapped her arms around Helen, then gestured for them to sit down on one of the squishy and worn, couches and chairs clustered around a coffee table.  
Aline chose a robin's egg blue couch, and Helen plopped down beside her.

Paintings scattered the wall, flowing words on canvases, beautiful sunsets and cherry trees. Pictures of Aline when she was a child were framed on shelves, along with pictures of their wedding day.

They curled up together, Helen nestling her head in the crook of Aline's neck. Jia gracefully sank into a cushy armchair across from them.  
"It's so good to see both of you." Jia brushed a stray hair from her face, and plucked it back into her bun.

"It is good to see you as well," Helen said sincerely. Aline grinned at them both, rolling her eyes. "Enough with the mushy gushy stuff, alright. We can catch up later. Mom, I want to know what's been happening with the Clave."

Jia reached for a steaming mug filled with tea on the wooden coffee table, then sat back in her chair.

"We're deciding what to do about the Cohort. They can't continue as they are, wreaking havoc everywhere. The Downworlders are beginning to catch wind of their antics. They're upset, which is reasonable, but we are seeing uprising against the Law. Downworlders are close to, or already are, breaking the Accords. They are angry at the Clave for not taking steps to stop the Cohort, but it is a lot more complicated than that. There are many high ranking officials in the Cohort, many old Shadowhunter families. It would be suicide to start a civil war over this. They are many, and they are powerful. It will be difficult to stop them, but we are trying."

Helen's eyes widened. She hadn't expected it to be as bad as that. She knew what the Cohort was attempting to do, restricting Downworlder rights, but she hadn't know the Downworlders knew what they were doing.

Jia continued. "I've attempted to reach out to different werewolf and vampire clans. I have spoken to the leaders of the New York clans, and a few others. They are trying to stop the chaos, but there are no promises. The warlocks aren't as big of an issue, seeing as how there are far fewer of them. I reached some of them and explained the situation and there are ones prepared to back us up, but many are sick. I don't know what's happening to them, but our allies are dropping fast."

Jia took a long sip of her tea. She cleared her throat and went on.

"We already knew that the faeries were against us, what with the Cold Peace. The only way the Seelie will stand by us, is if we find and hand the Black Book over to the Queen. As you know, Annabel is missing, and she took the Black Book. We cannot guarantee any help until we hopefully hand it over, and even then, we don't know what the Queen could do with that kind of power. The Mortal Sword, as you likely saw is shattered. I have never seen anything like it, nor has anyone ever heard of it. That sword, as you know was in the possession of Shadowhunters for over a thousand years. What Cortana did, Emma's sword, should have been impossible. I don't know how she did it, whether it was on purpose or not."

Aline groaned, scrubbing her hands through her hair. "Of course our family has to have more drama," she moaned.

Helen felt a small surge of happiness explode inside her.

Aline had called the Blackthorns her 'family', and Emma along with them.

"When must we return to Wrangel Island?" Helen asked, dreading the answer. Jia smiled grimly.

"You two aren't going back there anytime soon if I can help it. It was a ridiculous sentence then, and a ridiculous sentence now. We need you to fight, and I can't bear sending my children away from me now. The Cohort won't be pleased, but they don't ever need to know."

Aline rushed to her feet, knocking over drinks in her hurry, and embraced her mother. Tears were streaming down her face, her dark eyes glittering.

"What happened to, 'Enough of the mushy gushy stuff, alright?" Helen said, teasingly.

But she walked over, beaming, and hugged Aline and Jia, wrapping her arms around each of them tightly.  
A fire was lit inside of her, one that burned bright, a flame that couldn't, wouldn't, be extinguished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thats a little better


	5. Chapter 5

A fat, twirling drop of rain fell through the sky, reflecting light like a rainbow prism from the sun. It landed on a bright green, dewy piece of grass, running down it like a kid on a slide.

Ty watched it with a sort of fascination, as it splashed a ladybug, showering it with freshly fallen water.  
Ty was sitting on the rolling lawn behind one of the old manor houses in Idris. He didn't know which.  
He hadn't been able to sleep last night, plagued by dreams and nightmares, so he had gone for walk, finally plopping himself down in a nice patch of grass once the sun had risen.

Ty absentmindedly tore a strand of grass out of the ground, knotting it together with another.  
Thoughts ran around inside his head, coming and fleeting and jumping around.

He should probably start heading back. Julian would be worried. He wanted to stay here, among this peace and quiet, away from all the chaos, and loud screaming, suffocating noises filling the air. He always had to wear his headphones, or the noise became too much.

Today was Livvy's funeral, though, Ty tried as hard as possible to keep those thoughts from his mind. He knew if he didn't, he would break down right here and now.  
Every time Ty thought of Livvy, heard her mentioned, saw her, it felt as if his heart were being ripped to shreds, tearing and folding in on itself until there was nothing left at all.

Ty hoisted himself up off the ground, groaning. His backside and legs had fallen asleep from sitting too long. He glanced up at the sun, shielding his eyes from the bright light.

"Julian's going to be pissed," he murmured ruefully to himself.

**********

Julian was pissed. As soon as Ty got back, a wave of relief crossed Julian's face.  
He pulled him into a tight hug, gripping him hard. Ty had his hands pinned awkwardly to his sides.  
Julian pulled back, then his gaze hardened.

"Tiberius Blackthorn, you're in big trouble," Julian said sternly, hauling Ty inside by the scruff of his shirt. Ty winced, dreading the scolding he was sure to get. Julian pulled Ty into the pastel blue kitchen, the smell of coffee and pancakes still on the stove.

Julian dragged Ty, sitting him in a chair. He towered over him, blue green eyes burning, anger crackling between shades of blue.

"How dare you leave, walking out by yourself. I was worried sick. I thought you had run away, what with what day it is." Julian gulped down his emotion. "These are dangerous times and you can't go wandering out by yourself. The Blackthorn family is more than likely under suspicion, and we can't afford any more mess ups. What must you have had to walk for, three hours?"

Ty butted in, "It was four."

He couldn't look Julian in the eyes. He never had been able to. It felt to invasive, made him feel insecure and vulnerable.

"I don't care. You shouldn't have done it. I-I know Livvy just-just died," his voice cracked. "I know you were the closest with her, you were going to be parabatai. But that gives you no leniency. We are a family and we need to get through this together."

 Ty, anger riddling his voice, replied, "It isn't as if I've never been anywhere by myself before, Julian."

Julian blew out an exasperated sigh. "I know that, but times have changed. We need to stick together."

Ty nodded, wondering if the argument was over. He stood up, his eyes flicked cautiously upwards. Julian's eyes weren't as hard, his old steady, normal expression was planted on his face. Ty, wanting to make sure, whispered, "Are we done arguing?" Julian pulled him into another hug, running his hands slowly, and brotherly through Ty's hair.

"Yes little brother. No more fighting."

**********

The funeral was at seven, and it was noon now. Ty grabbed some food from the kitchen, then headed upstairs to his room.  
The wooden floorboards creaked as he quietly padded up the stairs. He walked past ancient paintings, portraits of the most accomplished, the most successful Shadowhunters.

He saw a few names that itched the back of his mind. Just recognizable enough to spark a memory

.Names like Charlotte and Henry Branwell, the Fairchilds and Nightshades. A William Herondale. He mostly recognized everyone from the Dark war, Clary, Jace, Simon, Isabelle, Alec. The greatest of the modern Shadowhunters.

There were landscape pictures of Idris, and renditions of some of the more famous Institutes.

Ty squeezed through the heavy wooden door to his room, shouldering it open, balancing his food in his hands.  
His bed was unmade, the covers and blankets thrown about and twisted together. Clothes were strewn on the floor from the past few days.  
Ty dumped his bundles of food on his bedside table, then turned on the witchlight lamp.

He set to clearing up his mess, setting clothes in a basket to be folded and washed, then tidying up his bed.  
He plopped down on his freshly made bed, reaching for his lunch, and unwrapped it from its cloth.  
Ty had brought up a sandwich, some fruit, a cup of yogurt, and a Poptart.

It was funny how Shadowhunters didn't have cars, yet somehow the houses were stocked with modern foods like Poptarts.

He shuffled through his bedside drawer, finally finding his headphones. He fit them snugly over his ears, twisting the cord through his hands and blaring music.  
Ty munched on his food thoughtfully, thinking about what was to come. He wondered what would happen to him, with the Clave, with Kit.  
Kit. Ty had forgotten to talk to him, hadn't even remembered him what with the recent events of the past few days. He should probably talk to him, Ty thought, frowning. He supposed that's what friends did.

He and Livvy had never needed to think about whether to speak to the other, they'd just always known. Ty had never had a real friend before, someone who wasn't Livvy. Nobody else had clicked with him, like he and Kit.

He shoveled another bite of banana into his mouth. Ty stood up, wiping the crumbs off of his bed and his pants. He wrapped his garbage up in the cloths, tying them off neatly.

He looped his headphones off, snagging them through his wavy black hair, twisting them around his neck. He pulled on a clean pair of socks and a snugly fit, navy blue sweater.

Ty padded out of the room, closing the door behind him.

His nerves were jittery, and his insides were jumping. He hadn't really talked to anyone since that day, besides when Julian had yelled at him.  
Ty didn't even know what he would say. He hadn't thought ahead that far. Ty walked down long, narrow, twisting hallways. He passed rooms, some empty, some filled with laughter and chatter. He turned another corner, stopping in front of the third room on the right. He looked at that closed door, the one he had been told earlier was Kit's.

He quietly knocked, fidgeting with the cords around his neck and looping his fingers through them.  
He heard someone moving, thumping around, a bang, and a violent stream of swear words.

Kit cracked the door open, holding his knee. His eyes lit up, seeing who it was, and he bared the door wider.  
Ty gave him a tentative smile, a small one, but just enough.

"Come on in," Kit waved a hand, beckoning him forward. Ty gulped and nodded, stepping into Kit's room. His room was brightly lit, witchlights adorning the walls, and sunlight streaming in through the open windows.

His room overlooked thick forests and mountains in the distance. Kit's room looked like all the other rooms, but messier. His clothes were thrown on the furniture and his bed was messed up.

Kit smiled weakly at him, still rubbing his leg. "I tripped a hit my knee on the dresser. I really should clean up this disaster."

Ty smirked, feeling better, and jokingly replied, "Leave it to you, to make a mess of yourself a week without supervision."

"Hey," Kit complained. "That's not fair."

Ty smiled, sitting himself down on the bed. In a more serious tone, he said, "I'm sorry-for not talking to you I mean. That's what friends are supposed to do aren't they? It's just been tough. What with-" Ty's voice broke, leaving an awkward silence.

Kit sat down next to him. He turned towards Ty, placing a careful hand on his shoulder.  
"Hey Ty, its okay. I really don't blame you. Its been hard on me too, and I'd only known her for a little bit. I can only imagine how difficult its been for you."

Ty uncomfortably twisted the Blackthorn ring on his finger. It had been Livvy's, he had taken it from her after she had died.

"I-thanks," Ty muttered under his breath. Kit replied "No problem."

Ty continued on, plowing through his words and sentences.  
"So anyway, erm, I was wondering if you would want to, um, go exploring with me, for a while."

Kit had the oddest expression on his face, a bit of shock and something else Ty couldn't quite place.

Hastily he added, "I mean, erm you don't have to if you don't want, it was just a tho-"

Kit broke into a grin, his eyes lighting up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Of course I want to, you knucklehead," he laughed.

Kit playfully ruffled Ty's hair, standing up, and headed towards the door. Ty followed him, feeling genuinely happy for the first time in days.

**********

The floor creaked under Ty. He saw a mouse scuttle across the wooden floorboards. He instinctively wanted to go after it, but he held himself back. Now wasn't the time to make friends.

Kit was wearing a pair of old, flannel, pajama pants and a loose white t-shirt. Ty had a witchlight stone in his hand, illuminating the corridor in front of him.  
Corridor wasn't the right word for it, it was more of a low, dimly lit tunnel. They had rummaged around the basement, shoving aside old boxes and trunks, until they had found a trapdoor.

Ty wondered what it was doing in the old Shadowhunter house they were staying in. It seemed to be going to nowhere.  
Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust and dirt that made him want to sneeze every time he breathed in.

They kept walking, crouching at the parts where the ceiling was especially low. Kit was chattering on mindlessly, talking and commenting, but Ty didn't mind.  
His voice was relaxing, something to keep him company. They continued on until they came upon a wider room, one filled with boxes and crates nailed crudely together. Peeling labels were coming off them. The wood was rotted on a few of them. and cobwebs and dust mites littered the ground.  
Ty went to one of them, prying a board off.

"What do you suppose are in them?"

Kit shrugged, "I dunno."

He came over to where Ty was kneeling, helping him open the crate. A few minutes, and several splinters later, they managed to shuck the cover off the old, wooden crate.

Inside were just loads of extra steles and witchlights, an old seraph blade or two thrown in there.  
"Why would they have all these supplies lying down here when they can be used?" Kit wondered, a crease in his brow.

Ty fiddled with the headphones looped around his neck.  
"My guess is, these were used as a sort of passage between house from house during war, and they had extra in case they ran out. The people originally here probably died or forgot these were down here."

Kit shrugged his shoulders, venturing over to another box.  
"Whatever. Let's see what's in the others."

They managed to successfully open the rest of the crates. The contents were much the same as the first.  
There were a few more weapons in some. By the time they were finished, Ty's hand were bruised and beaten up. He quickly applied an iratze, watching as his bruises healed. He was always fascinated by the runes, the magic they made.

He offered to iratze Kit. Kit nodded his head, gulping. Ty assumed he was anticipating the familiar sting of the rune; it always hurt the first few times. Kit carefully extended his wrist, glancing down at it before looking up. Ty gripped his wrist firmly, turning his hand over, and traced an iratze over the back of his hand. He watched the ink flow smoothly from the tip of the stele. His cuts healed and faded, the blisters slowly disappearing.

"Alright," Ty said finally. "We'll tell someone about the extra steles and supplies, see if they need them. We should start heading back.The funeral is soon, and we still have to get changed."

Kit nodded grimly. "Man, I hate dressing up."

**********

Ty looked in the mirror, staring at his reflection. He was wearing the custom Shadowhunter mourning clothes, a white suit, dark red runes circling the fabric at his wrists.  
Runes that spoke of mourning, sadness. But also of perseverance and seeing the light through the darkness. The Blackthorn ring gleamed silver on his finger.  
He had attempted in vain to comb through his wild, curly, black hair. He looked nice though, more put together than he had in the past several days. He braced himself.  
He couldn't let his emotions get out of hand, not now.

Ty shouldered the heavy door open, heading down the stairs, and stepped out into the kitchen.  
Julian and Emma were already there, as were Cristina and Mark.

Julian and Mark were wearing similar clothes to his. Emma was wearing a white power suit; trust her to never wear a dress unless she had to, and Cristina was wearing a dainty white dress.

Emma had her long blonde hair down, pooling around her shoulders. Cristina had her hair intricately wrapped and twisted up.  
Dru came into the kitchen from her room, her hair neatly braided, wearing a long white dress. She was holding Tavvy's hand, gripping it firmly.  
Kit walked in, looking uncomfortable and scratching his neck.

His hair was neatly brushed for maybe the first time since Ty had known him. He was wearing a similar white suit. Kit in a suit was not something Ty had prepared for.  
He looked simultaneously alien and natural in it, a striking presence in the room.

Ty averted his eyes, focusing on Julian. Julian's eyes were ringed red, and he looked slightly sick to his stomach.

"Do we have everyone?" Julian called, counting heads. He blinked looking startled for a second, then shook his head.

"Alright, let's go. Its a short walk, and we have plenty of time."

They filed out of the door. muttering and murmuring to each other. The funeral was to be held in a large open meadow. It was a beautiful day. The sky was a bright, clear blue. Birds chirped and chattered from their perches on the tree branches. The dew had finally evaporated off the grass, leaving it dry and a silky green.  
Their shoes clattered on the cobbled road, they followed Julian down twisting streets.

Kit fell into step with Ty, his head down, his hair hanging in his face. Ty didn't say anything, and neither did Kit. He was glad that he was there however, it was reassuring to have a friend.

For years of his life, he never had a friend other than Livvy, and he hadn't cared. She was all that he had needed.  
Ty was glad he had met Kit. He wasn't sure he could have gotten through this without someone, something to lean on, a crutch, to guide him through his pain.


	6. Chapter 6

Kit walked alongside Ty, his fancy, uncomfortable shoes squeezing his feet as they strode up the cobbled roads of Idris.  
They were nearly there. Kit could see a wide clearing, surrounded by trees. A funeral pyre was set on a long, white marble, pedestal. Rows and rows of seats were lined up facing the front.

A few Shadowhunters were already milling around there. He saw a tall girl, with long black hair. It was in a thick rope down her back, and it nearly touched her waist. A brown haired man was standing beside her, deep in conversation.

They looked familiar, though Kit couldn't quite place where he might have seen them before. Consul Penhallow was there as well, which surprised Kit, although he supposed it made sense. Livvy had been her daughter-in-law's sister, and after what had happened in the Hall, she probably felt she needed to pay her respects.

They walked up a short path, brush scraping Kit's sides. He tripped on a tree root. He glanced around hoping no one had noticed. Emma smirked playfully at him.  
They officially arrived, Julian, leading the way. The Consul greeted them, shaking each of their hands in turn. Her eyes in her face looked round and sad. Jia's hair was pulled up in a tight knot, streaks of gray hair riddling the black. She wore long, white Consul robes, different than her usual black ones.

Kit smiled grimly when she took his hand, and muttered a word of thanks. Their group walked around a bit, greeting people who offered words of condolence.  
Kit suspected much of it was fake. Shadowhunters died often. They probably barely knew Livvy's name. Helen and Aline came over at some point. Hugging them each, words were shared and tight embraces were given.

Kit felt terrible for Helen. She had been banished, had hardly known her sister for those years that she was gone. The Clave was often cruel, even to those who were in it.  
Helen and Aline went off, and took their seats.

The tall black haired girl and the brown haired boy finally noticed them. They came over to Julian and Emma. Kit pushed his way towards where they were standing.  
"Isabelle! Simon! It's so great to see you," Emma exclaimed, smiling.

So that's what their names were. Kit thought they had looked familiar. He had seen their portraits as heroes of the Mortal War.  
Kit had heard of Simon, the boy once a mundane, turned vampire, turned mundane again by Asmodeus, King of Hell. Then he had gone to the Shadowhunter Academy to become a Shadowhunter.

Isabelle Lightwood was apparently the best Shadowhunter, second only to Jace Herondale. She looked as if she could stomp over your heart in high heels with a wicked grin on her face, and her whip flying.

Kit tuned back into the conversation. Julian was saying, "Enough about us. What's been happening up in New York?"  
Isabelle replied, "Well, most excitingly, and surprisingly,"

"Hey!" SImon cut in.

Isabelle continued, "me and Simon are getting married!"

"Congratulations! That's wonderful!" Emma said.

"The wedding will be in a few months time, it would be great if you could come," Simon said, a faint smile on his face.

"That would be great," Julian said.

"Anyway, we just wanted to pay our respects to Livvy. We were up in Alicante for Robert's funeral and figured it was probably really hard for you. I'm sorry," Isabelle solemnly said.

"I-Thank you. I'm sorry about Robert," Julian muttered.

"Well, we had better go and find Mark, and make sure he's not causing any problems," Emma smiled grimly.

Simon nodded, Emma turned away bringing Julian with her.

"Hey, my name is Kit. Kit Herondale." Kit shifted nervously on his feet.

"Oh, you must be the Lost Herondale. We've heard all about you from Jace. He's always going on about how you even have the same hair. He's such a show off," Simon said, rolling his eyes and smiling.  
"My hair's definitely better," Kit mused, rubbing the back of his head.

"Tell Jace that, and he'll have a fit," Isabelle grinned tugging on her dress. "I'm gonna go find a seat. I'll leave you two to nerd off and complain about Jace.

"I'm not a nerd!" Simon protested. "Man, that's the biggest lie you've ever told," Isabelle said in reply.

"She's probably right, you know," Simon muttered, glancing at her.

Kit laughed, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Don't worry. I'm a massive nerd too."

Simon smiled. "Really? What's your favorite Star Wars movie?"

Kit replied, "One hundred percent 'The Empire Strikes Back'."

"C'mon man, it's obviously 'A New Hope."

They strolled around talking, as Isabelle said "nerding off", until the Consul called for attention.

"May I ask that everyone please take their seats." Kit said goodbye, and did a quick scan for the other Blackthorns. They were at the front, a row had been reserved for them.

Kit walked over to join them, sat down next to Ty, his seat right next to the aisle. He noticed someone standing near the pyre.  
He had on a long, parchment colored robe, shadows falling over his face, obscuring the details. Kit wondered briefly who he was. Jia was stood at the front, blocking their view of the pyre.

"I would like to welcome Brother Enoch, of the Silent City." So that's who he was.

Kit glanced up as Brother Enoch drew back his hood, revealing a grotesquely disfigured face underneath. Kit nearly cried out in surprise. He had no eyes, just sunken patches, and his mouth was grossly stitched together.  
A voice spoke inside his head. Kit widened his eyes.

_Let us begin._

_**********_

Ty had never liked the Silent Brothers. They were strange, and a bit creepy. He definitely didn't like their ability to speak directly inside his head. It was invasive, and made Ty uncomfortable. The Silent Brothers took care of all dead Shadowhunters, other than criminals or traitors.

Ty could see Livvy, her eyes bound in white silk, her arms crossed over her chest, a seraph blade in her right hand. Her dark brown hair was neatly braided. He wondered who had done it. He missed those blue-green eyes of hers.

He averted his eyes, looking up at the Consul. A look of sorrow was etched upon her features.

She spoke then, "It is sad, it is cruel, that one so bright and beautiful, should die so young. It is harsh, the way in which Livia Blackthorn passed. She was a mere fifteen. I will miss her, as will many. The Blackthorns most of all. My heart goes out to each of you. And so I say this; Ave Atque Vale. Hail and Farewell, my sister."

Ty felt tears sting the back of his eyes. His insides felt as if they had been scraped out like a jack-o-lantern. He felt hollow and empty and cold. On his left was Cristina, a tear slid down her face. To his right was Kit. His face was lined and sad, his eyes looked as if they were shattering slowly from the inside.

Ty memorized the marks and scars covering her body, the clothes she was wearing, the details of her face and hair. He wanted to remember this moment, to have it imprinted on his brain.

Brother Enoch covered Livvy's body with a sheet of white silk.  
Ty soaked up his last true glimpse of her.

He took a torch, dipped it in the fire from the burning brazens on either side of the pyre. He lowered the torch to the silk. Tears were sliding down Ty's face.  
The fabric was alight, bright orange flames licked the charred silk, seeping underneath to Livvy.

"Ave Atque Vale," Ty whispered hoarsely under his breath.

He was shattering apart from the inside out. He missed Livvy so much already. Her laughter and her chatter and her love.

It wasn't fair that he had spent so little time with her. Only fifteen years, when he had expected many more. Flames engulfed Livvy's body. Tall, brilliant flames. Everything looked blurred, with the tears in his eyes.

He supposed he shouldn't really be crying. Shadowhunters weren't supposed to cry. But Ty didn't care. Everyone else was crying, and these tears weren't something you could suppress.

Smoke was drifting up towards the clouds, the bright blue sky, and the puffy white clouds. It was so beautiful today. It didn't feel right. It should be gloomy and cloudy and cold, to reflect how he felt on the inside. Consul Penhallow watched solemnly from her seat, her eyes shining. Ty turned his eyes to the ground, studying the grass, counting the blades. He couldn't bear to watch anymore.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, a comforting gesture. He found he didn't mind. He usually hated being touched, but he really didn't mind. He leaned into the embrace, welcomed it even.

It was beginning to get dark, the sun had just started to dip down beyond the horizon.  
Ty wiped the tears from his face, clearing his throat. Livvy was gone. Completely gone, and he would try to get past her death. He didn't know if he could, but he would try. It might take months, maybe years. But he was determined to succeed. It's what she would want, he knew, and he would honor that.  
Ty looked up, and noticed that at least half the seats were empty. He hadn't heard anyone leave.

There was a thick coating of ash on the funeral pyre. Thick and dusty and gray. Brother Enoch was silently sweeping Livvy's remains into a small, beautifully carved wooden box. Julian stood, uncomfortably tugged his shirt down. His face was red, his eyes swollen from crying.

Emma looked equally as bad, mascara running down her face. Jia was thanking Brother Enoch for coming, her expression impassive, but her eyes sad. Ty became aware that Kit was still holding him, and he hugged him tightly back. Ty buried his face into Kit's shoulder.  
Someone came and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. Ty looked up. Mark.

Mark pulled him into a hug, gripping him tightly. Mark had always been the one who Ty minded least when he touched Ty. Mark released him slowly, looked into his eyes and said,

"How sorry I am, brother mine. You knew her best. You have a long, hard, path ahead of you, but I knew you will walk it with your head up and chest out."

Ty only nodded, not entirely sure what that meant, but moved all the same. Julian came up to him, wrapped his arms around Ty. Julian didn't say anything, only looked at Ty with sorrowful eyes.

Ty could only think how similar his and Livvy's eyes were, that precise shade of blue-green.  
Emma hugged him too, and only muttered,  
"Don't you worry Ty. Livvy didn't deserve death, just like my parents didn't. I will find Annabel, and when I do, I'll kill her."

Ty looked at her, surprised, as she walked away. A second later, Cristina awkwardly shook his hand. He was grateful she didn't try to hug him.  
"I wish you well Ty," was all she said.

Helen and Aline walked over to him, simply hugged him and muttered how sorry they were. Ty nodded, thanking them.

The other members of his family were consoling each other as well, hugs and embraces being given out.  
Kit walked over to him, his head hung low, his hair falling into his face.

"I'm sorry Ty. She died so young. You should have had so much more time with her."

Ty nodded, touched by the gesture. It was all a blur after that. People coming and going and talking mindlessly.  
Ty just wanted to go back to the house. He was sick of all of this social interaction. Ty made his way over to Julian, muttering 'excuse me' and shoving past people.  
He looked up at Julian. Ty was getting taller. Julian didn't have quite so much height on him anymore.  
"Can we go back now?" Ty whispered softly.

"Yeah sure. I'm getting tired of this too." Julian motioned for Jia to come over. People parted for her, and she was there in a moment.

"We'll just be leaving now, if that's alright with you," Julian said.

"Yes, yes of course. I'll see you out," Jia replied.

Julian gathered everyone; Emma, Mark, Cristina, Dru, Tavvy and Kit. They walked slowly towards the path they came from, stopping a few times to say goodbye.  
Helen came over, quickly hugged each of them again, then hurried away.

The Consul led them out. They trailed one by one onto the small, dirt road. "Good luck," was all Jia said.

Good luck. They would need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry but a kit/simon bromance is all i need in life


	7. Chapter 7

He could feel the crunch of the dried grass beneath his back. Gwyn stood up, his joints creaking and popping. He groaned and stretched. He wasn’t as young as he used to be.

“I wish, just once, that we could stay in a five star hotel,” He muttered.

Gwyn’s gear chafed his arms and legs where it connected, and he grumpily adjusted it. Just last night, they had arrived in the Land of the Unseelie. The Wild Hunt’s horses, motorcycles, and other miscellaneous forms of transformation were built for easy travel between lands. Gwyn gazed upon his hunters. They were sleeping peacefully, their arms tucked under their heads, or jackets rolled up as pillows. He might act fierce, but he had grown fond of them after all of these years. His men looked so different when rage or sorrow didn’t twist their faces.

He would have to wake them up soon. A sliver of the sun was beginning to shine over the tips of the trees, illuminating the green leaves. Leaves crackled under Gwyn's heavy boots. He stroked his beard thoughtfully. Today would mostly be a day of travelling, carrying heavy, back breaking sacks, filled with food and weapons. Better known as Gwyn's least favorite form of travel. He loved riding fast and hard, exploding through clouds feeling the wind whip his face.

Gwyn sighed. He pulled his horn from the strap around his waist, pressing it between his lips. He blew, loud and clear. His men groaned, some of them turning back over. Their hair was mussed up, sticking up all over the place. Deep, purple shadows lined some of their eyes. He blew again, then turned back to where he had been sleeping. Gwyn started rolling up his sack of supplies. He heard rustling and people bumping into each other behind him. A few were muttering about how it was too early for this. He rolled his eyes. Hunters could be so stubborn and stupid sometimes.

Gwyn turned around, and his eyes were met with a sorry bunch. Rumpled, crinkled shirts, people yawning, and a few were still asleep.

"Alright, listen up," He called. "This morning and eve, we will be travelling. I need to see an old comrade, he will help us with our situation. He's a good tracker, and a decent fellow. But don't frighten him." By now, everyone was sitting or standing, and a few were even beginning to pack up.

"Each of you, pack up. We leave in ten minutes," Gwyn grumbled.

He was nearly done himself, only needed to check that his weapons were freshly sharpened. He pulled out a long, thin, knife, a misericord. Good for hunting. It was funny, he thought, as he took a bite of a lumpy bagel. Shadowhunters always seemed under the impression that the Wild Hunt was a fierce, cruel bunch. Hunters that were relentless and wild. And maybe they used to be like that. But Gwyn supposed that he was softening with old age. Now, his hunters seemed to him like just a load of teenage boys. Gwyn took a swig of water, felt the cool liquid running down his throat and quenching his thirst. 

Gwyn stretched one last time, sighing. He had a long day ahead of him. He pulled himself up onto his black steed. He could feel the muscles and bones working in his horse. Gwyn always rode bareback. He just liked the feeling better. He patted his ride, pulling out a bushel of hay from the sack around his back.

"Here you go, buddy," Gwyn said, feeding him gently. He looked down at his hunters. They were mostly ready, and few of them just adjusting their packs of supplies on their horses. He waited until they were all sat, looking up at him attentively.

"And now," Gwyn called, "We ride."

He blew his hunting horn as his horse took off into the air, and deep, resonating sound bouncing off the thick groves of the trees. Wind whipped his hair, and he grinned.

**********

Kit sat up. He was sinking down, being swallowed up by a massive, squishy armchair. Definitely made for a giant, someone at least three times his size. 

He was in the library, trying to read, but the book was boring, and he honestly hated it. Something about Russian Politics that he had blindly grabbed off one of the shelves. Light was streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows. Kit could see the dust that he had stirred up, floating through the air and latching on to other unused objects. 

Kit sighed, running his hands through his hair. He missed TV. He missed watching dozens of episodes in a single day. Why didn't Shadowhunters even have televisions? What did they  _do_ with their lives? They lived like cavemen, only hunting and running and hiding. Never having any fun. The closest thing Kit could get to actually watching shows here was talking about it. None of the Shadowhunters watched TV though, so they were useless.

  _Simon_. Kit thought. Simon had seemed pretty cool when he had met him, and he wanted to escape this miserably quiet house. The funeral had been yesterday, so he couldn't blame them. Kit was still upset, himself, and he had only known Livvy for a few weeks. Her love was infectious that way. His eyes stung, and he sometimes felt like throwing up, but the stone cold, silent house wasn't helping any.

And there was something else Kit wanted to ask Simon, but he wasn't sure, not yet. 

Kit wished he could go back to his old life. With his father still alive, dealing with Downworlders, and seeing Shadowhunters, but not actually being one. Not caught up in their politics and wars and crap. He missed his room, his own bed. Not dealing with the suffocating thoughts that now constantly barraged him. But there were good things about this new life. Ty, for one. He was a good friend. And he genuinely liked all the Blackthorns, if not all the Shadowhunters. Like mother fricking Dearborn, the jerk. And yeah, he missed TV and waking up at a decent time, but this was his new life and was going to have to accept that. Obviously, he wouldn't get up and train at five thirty in the morning if his life depended on it, but he was committed to being a Shadowhunter. 

Kit got up and stretched. His legs had fallen asleep. And his butt. And his feet. And well, everything. He dropped the Russian politics book, and walked out of the library, his bare feet soundlessly padding across the carpeted floor. He turned down the hall, walking towards the kitchen. It was breakfast time, and he figured at least somebody would be there. He didn't actually know where Simon was staying. He needed to ask someone. 

Kit neared the kitchen door. He was about to push the door open and walk in, when he heard voices. it sounded like people were arguing in whispered tones, and Kit couldn't help but be curious. He pulled a stele out of his pocket. He had nabbed and extra one from those crates and boxes that he and Ty had found. He had figured nobody would care. He drew back his sleeve, pushing it up to his elbow. He carefully drew a 'Good Hearing' rune, or whatever it was called, on his arm. His hand shook. He could feel the burn of the stele on his skin. It was mesmerizing how the ink glided onto his arm. It was like he had plugged headphones into their conversation and turned the volume up to full blast.   
  
He could tell from their voices that it was Emma and Julian. He pressed up against the door, careful not to push it open. Julian's voice was low and anxious, his voice cracking. Emma groaned. He listened harder to try and understand their conversation.

"We can't tell the Clave," Julian was saying. "Robert was going to figure out a solution, but now he's dead. Anybody else, even Jia, will just strip us of our Marks, maybe kill us." _What was going on?_ Kit wondered. He thought back to what had happened in that cave when Julian had killed Azazel. In the heat of the moment, Kit hadn't registered what had happened. Now that he thought about, it was odd what Julian had did. He had never heard of any Shadowhunter doing something as strange and as powerful as that 

Then again, Kit hadn't exactly memorized the Codex, but he had a good idea that whatever Julian had done wasn't normal. Kit tuned back in to the conversation.

"I know," Emma said anxiously, "But we can't let this go on. We'll end up killing ourselves our somebody else. I can't live with this."

"I wish we had never become parabatai," Julian muttered.

"It was the only way we wouldn't have been separated," Emma glumly replied.

Julian started saying something, but Kit wasn't paying attention. He had just shifted his weight onto his other foot, when he stumbled. He fell sideways into the door, tripping over his feet. He quickly pulled his sleeve down, trying to act natural. Acting wasn't Kit's hidden talent, but he was okay at it from dealing with so many people with his dad.  
"So, um, what's for breakfast?" Kit stuttered. Emma eyed him suspiciously, glancing at his arm. Her face was a little pink, and her mouth was drawn into a tight line. Kit scrambled over to the coffee machine on the counter, pressing random buttons. He heard it whir to life, and Kit hoped he wouldn't accidentally start a fire. 

"Pancakes," Julian replied, his face a blank slate. He looked calm and collected. Kit looked into his eyes, to see if they betrayed any kind of emotion, but zip.

"What is it with you Blackthorns and pancakes?" Kit wondered aloud. Julian shrugged turning to grab a pan out of the wooden cabinets. Emma walked over to the small, round, table in the center of the kitchen, and sank down into a chair. She grabbed a newspaper, turning to the cartoons. The bright colorful pictures were of Calvin and Hobbes, filling the page. 

Different scents wafted through the kitchen, mixing smells together into an oddly delicious recipe. Kit sat down on one of the creaky, old, stained chairs, waiting for his random cup of coffee to be finished. He tapped his foot nervously against the floor. There was an awkward silence, filled with tension. Kit was the god of awkward silences. "So," He said, not sure what else to say. "Where are Simon and Isabelle staying?"  
  
"In the Lightwood house," Emma replied bluntly. "Its on the main street, where the Inquisitor used to live."

"Ah, okay. Thanks."

Emma just shook her head, her eyes zooming from page to page. A loud beep filled the room. Finally. Time to wake up. Kit walked over to the counter to grab his coffee. There were still grounds floating around in it, and it was an odd, murky, dark brown color. Kit took a sip. He winced. Kit wondered exactly what buttons he had pressed to make up such a horrible concoction. 

Julian was flipping pancakes now, having heated up the stove and mixed together the batter. He flipped them with grace and ease. You could tell he did this a lot. Kit watched him absentmindedly. If only he was good at something. Kit stood up slowly, stretching, and cracking his back. Kit pulled his shirt down. "I'm going over to Simon's house," he said, wondering if anybody cared.   


"You aren't staying for pancakes?" Julian asked, holding a pancake mid flip.

"No, I'm not really hungry."  
  
"Are you serious, you're the only one I was making these for."  
  
"Sorry man," Kit replied, walking to the door. "I promise I'll eat double tomorrow."

He pushed open the door, ready to see Simon. He wondered once more what Julian and Emma had been discussing. He drew back the curtains on a high, floor to ceiling window. The sky was clear and blue, the trees glinted sunlight. A squirrel was burying an acorn, a few birds obnoxiously tweeted. The dirt road to the garden was covered in leaves.

Kit sighed. It would be a perfect day if a war wasn't about to go down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is trash and nothing really happened
> 
> i promise a more exciting chapter next


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i kinda forgot about this but here's a little update

Simon was surprised to hear the loud, clanging sound of the doorbell ring through the Inquisitor's house. He glanced up, looking towards the door. Simon looked wistfully back at his book, "Star Wars: The Labyrinth of Evil," and tossed it on to the rough, carpeted floor. He stood up, groaning and grumbling. Whoever it was that was making him walk, on a  _Saturday_ , had better have something important to say.

He slid his thick socks around the floor, pretending he was ninja, but instantly regretted it when his sock snagged on a long splinter sticking up from the wood in the hallway. Swearing, he stumbled towards the door. Simon grumpily pulled it open, hopping on one foot and holding the other.

The sun was blindingly bright, and Simon winced, casting a hand over his eyes. Simon saw a shock of blonde hair. His first thought,  _Jace._ He wondered what he was doing back. But when his eyes finally focused he saw a different face. Kit.

"What are you doing here?" Simon asked bluntly. Kit looked surprised, his mouth twisting into a frown. Hah. That looked funny, Simon mused. Simon hung on the door, waiting for an answer. It was, like, ten in the morning after all. He had better things to do than just wait here for an hour.

"Well?" He prodded. 

"I mean, I dunno. I just wanted someone to talk to. That house is dead silent. And there's no tv. How am I supposed to  _live_?"

"You get used to it after a while, I promise you. When I was training at the Shadowhunter Academy, there were rats in our bedrooms, the food tasted like feet. No. Worse than feet. More like elephant poop. And you should have  _seen_ the bathrooms." 

"Sounds like hell," Kit replied, shuddering.

"I know right." Simon opened the door all the way, motioning for Kit to step inside. "Come on in, I was just reading."  
  
"Really? Me too." Simon lead Kit down the hail, his fingers mindlessly tracing the floral pattern of the wallpaper. He was careful to step around that massive wood splinter, but then of course, his foot snagged a different one. Man, sometimes he wished he still was a vampire, with all that grace and non-clumsiness. He cursed and motioned for Kit to head on in to the room. Probably called something posh like a parlor or pantry or something, but Simon just called it 'The least sucky room.' After Simon had sufficiently got himself unstuck from the floor, he limped in beside Kit.

Kit glanced down at the floor, contorting his neck to read the upside down title. "Ew. The Star Wars books are so trash."

"Fight me Herondale," Simon replied. Kit looked up, his eyes sparking. _Crud._ He shouldn't have said that. Simon internally slapped himself. He was honestly shocked that his internal self didn't have a permanent hand print on his face. Not that he knew it didn't. Herondales: Giant douches who never backed off from a fight.

"Woah, no please don't. Just an expression," Simon said warily, his hands up. He was not about ready to get his butt kicked by some kid with way less training than him.

"Yeah man, I know. I  _am_ actually a teenager," Kit smiled, shaking his head. Simon shrugged, pulling his now annihilated sock off his foot with a grimace. 

"Hey, I'll go get some coffee going. You look like you could use it."

It was the truth. Kit had thick, swabs of purple under his eyes, his hair mussed up. He was slouching over, and he looked as if he could hardly stand. Simon strode over to the Mr. Coffee™ on one of the counters, pushing one of those 'Kill your environment!' cups into the machine, and pressed a few different buttons. He didn't  _actually_ know how to use it, but he figured it would be fine. What were the chances that it was going to catch fire?

He awkwardly drummed his fingers on the counter top, trying to think of brainy and cool conversation starters. Kit was staring blankly out the window, his head resting on the palm of his hand. The coffee machine beeped, and Simon grabbed the cups of heaven.

He slid over to the armchairs, slipping into the one next to Kit. He set the mug down on the side table, taking a sip of his own. The mixture of the milk and coffee burned his throat, but in the best way possible.

"So," Simon pressed. "Was there anything specific that you wanted to say to me?"  

"I mean, not really. Well there was one thing, but I dunno." Kit looked thoughtfully at Simon, his eyes questioning.

"Yeah? What is it?" Simon asked, curious for the answer. 

'i-Well. You love Isabelle right?"

Simon nodded, wondering where this was going. "Yeah, I have for a long time."  
  
"But, sorry, um, didn't you used to like Clary?"

Simon nodded. "How did you know that Isabelle was the one for you? That Clary wasn't right, but Isabelle was?" Simon thought about that for a second. He had never really considered how he had known. He just had. "Well, the best that I can describe it is, Clary has always been my best friend. She's like a sister to me. I thought I loved her, but we never had that kind of fire. What I felt with Izzy, that was something completely different. It was real and total and it felt right. I just knew. We fit together, and it wasn't awkward or uncomfortable or forced, like the relationship with me and Clary was. Clary's great and I love her, but she'll only ever be my best friend. Sorry, does that help?"

Kit was deep in thought, his mind far away from here. He started himself back to reality, clarity coming over his eyes. "Alright, yeah, thanks."  
  
"Why do you ask? Do you have someone in mind?"  
  
"I don't know. Maybe. A friend, but now's not a good time for me to be professing unrequited love. I'm sure they have other things on their mind."  
  
Simon shrugged, running his hands through his hair. He wondered who that could be, although it could be virtually anybody. Everyone was still in shock from the incident. It wasn't in his business to pry, and it wasn't like him to be nosy. Simon took another sip of his now, lukewarm coffee, warming up his fingers around the mug.

"So. What you were saying about the Star Wars books being trash," Simon continued. Kit smirked, pushing his sleeves up. Simon shook his leg a little, stretching his toes. It had fallen asleep, and now pins and needles were stabbing him. Too bad coffee didn't help keep everything awake. Coffee was a god, but even gods had their limits.

"Yeah, man. Those books are crappy," Kit said, smiling and squinting his eyes out the window. Simon was ready to argue, but decided against it, wanting to maintain the peace for at least a few more minutes.

"So anyway," Kit  uncertaintly started, "I mean, uh. Nevermind." That was awkward. Even Simon, true king of awkward moments could see that.

"Right, well. I better be going, Julian probably made us all lunch, that cooking fanatic," Kit revised.

Simon nodded, "Kay. Come visit if you need anything else. I think me and Isabelle might be coming down there later for dinner, but I dunno."

Simon sank wearily down into his chair, rubbing his temple, as Kit silently slipped out the door. Kit was like a less brutal, less harsh, more bro Jace, Simon thought. He wished, that for more than a couple of months, he could actually have some peace and quiet, but he knew that would never happen.

 

 

 


End file.
